


I Get So Hungry When You Say You Love Me

by doctor_jasley, gala_apples



Series: S. K. Anon [5]
Category: Ke$ha (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Break Up, Cannibalism, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_jasley/pseuds/doctor_jasley, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kesha brings some take out home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Get So Hungry When You Say You Love Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Cannibal by Ke$ha...this song was one of the reasons we wrote her into the main story.

Kesha’s all alone now. Well, not _really_. There’s always _someone_ to chat up. It’s not like she’s a dog that can’t attract someone the moment she’s bored. But the people that know what she’s into are gone. Which sucks, because sometimes you just want to talk about the shit that interests you.

William and Gabe asked her to come with them. She and William had just finished fucking, Gabe on the other end of the couch with the volume cranked so he could hear Law and Order over their moans. And then he had muted it, and William had pulled out, and they told her they had plans to move. Not just anywhere, but all the fucking way to Italy. And then they asked her if she wanted to come with.

She’d said no. Of course she had, it’s not like there was any other answer. Living with them forever, fucking them without ever eating, it was like freakin’ _monogamy_. And that was a slippery fucking slope. It was bad enough that she already knew when William was feeling all unhot and needed some self confidence fucked into him, or when Gabe was having a headache and he needed to be distracted, or that she knew what sort of icky food Gabe and William ate and would try to talk her into eating. Moving to another country with them? Shit, she might as well demand a white picket fence and that they cram her up with like five stupid babies. 

But now they’re gone, and sometimes that blows. It’s not like other guys can’t make her come, her cunt isn’t _broken_. Hell, Gabe and William weren’t even her best lays ever, that reward goes to Mr Watson. It took like three months for wearing short skirts in History class to become foreplay for lunchtime quickies, but the wait was totally worth it. It’s just they were around whenever she wanted, without even trying. Like Tivo, but for vag. 

Plus they were funny. This guy isn’t funny at all. She laughs ‘cause he wants her to, because she turned down his third drink -it’s hard to make a meal drunk- and she needs to let him know that she’s still interested. But his jokes are totally stupid, lower than puns on the hahaha meter. In the end that doesn’t matter, it’s not like she can eat his sense of humour. His tacky as fuck white unbuttoned shirt shows that he’s got no chest hair, and his arms are pretty sparse too. Stuff like that makes life easier. Taking home a bear of a man makes prep time stretch for hours. It would be cool though, if he wasn’t completely retarded. 

He seems to think his car is the shit, which is annoying as fuck. Why would she give a shit about gold rims when all that matters is he’s good in bed and better in a frying pan? She gives him half a handjob in the front seat, then tells him she’d rather finish at her place. Dick hard and completely taken over any thought process, he agrees. 

The sex is alright. She comes, he comes, he ties off the condom and tosses it into the garbage. It’s nothing mind blowing, and he doesn’t get her a glass of juice afterward like they would. It’s okay though, she doesn’t need a sugary distraction. Not when she can pull a fork out of the nightstand and jab it into his chest. He screams as the blood wells up, but she’s used to boys being noisy. The skin rips a bit when she yanks it out, the four drops of blood quickly expanding. Kesha only has a second to lean in and lick it up -fuck, it’s like sweet sweet pennies melting in her mouth- before he hits her in the face and leaps up from the bed. Spoilsport.

And, like, now she has no choice. If she lets him leave, he’ll probably be a little bitch and go claim assault from some cop. That’s not cool. So she waits until he’s got his shitty Kmart jeans pulled up just barely over his ass and belted, and his white shirt soaking up the blood drooling down his chest and then she gets out of bed. He calls her a crazy bitch, or some shit like that, like it matters what he thinks. Nobody fuckin’ asks a cow if they think the farmer is a cunt, and she’s not soliciting his fuckin’ opinion either. 

The apartment is tiny as fuck. With William and Gabe gone she has a place that fits her better. Daddy’s trust fund could pay for something a hundred times bigger, but she doesn’t like big and high class. Unless it’s cock. What it means is she’s got about five steps to do something before he’s out the front door and safe in his lame ass car and calling the fucking pigs. Good for her then, that the kitchenette is more of a chair sized hub off the hallway, and she doesn’t even need to step off the grubby grey carpet to reach the knife block. A quick stab to the back of the neck -Mr Knife sayin’ hello to C5 or 6 or 7- and he crumples to the floor. She’s got all the time she needs now. 

Of course, that’s when he starts screaming and whining. Because calling her a crazy whore is going to make her stomach any less growly. She takes a few steps and picks up a high heel she decided against earlier and crams it in his mouth. He won’t suffocate but it’ll be more muffled, and the people next door will appreciate that. They all ignore each other’s various crimes -mostly drugs and hookers and spousal abuse- but it’s like three in the morning and if someone needs to work in a few hours there’s no reason to be a shitty neighbour.

Nummy treat nicely shut up, Kesha drops to the floor. She crosses her legs under her and stares at the meat in front of her, trying to plan her method. Some of the next steps are obvious. For pretty much whatever she makes, she needs to drain the six quarts, and try and shove the reused milk containers into the fridge before it all goes bad. And she needs to skin the areas that have hair, though screening earlier helps that. But the actual cuts of meat, that’s all up to whatever she’s in the mood for. It’s just a matter of deciding what has top priority. Sometimes it feels like she’s only eaten shit and garbage for months, and when she actually has the chance for a real meal it’s hard to pick what’s gonna be best. Good thing the meat’s not going anywhere.


End file.
